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inhabitants had gone, they hadn’t needed to bring along household equipment. Storage canisters filled with desiccated remnants indicated that few, if any, staples had been taken. There were homely artifacts like rusted needles, pins, and scissors. There had been no human bones to suggest a sudden annihilation from attack or disease.
    Although all the other entrances to the interior of Honshu had been shut, the heavy doors to the beasthold had been propped open, suggesting that the ancients had released their livestock but had left the creatures access to a refuge.
    He turned page after page of the daily comings and goings from Landing, neatly recorded by the Tower duty officers. Hesaw again the reference to Kimmer’s defection with a much-needed operational sled.
    S.K. involved in the Tubberman launching. Observed on a northwestern course. Suspect that’s the last we’ll see of him and the sled. ZO.
    F’lessan had already tried to find any notes in Kimmer’s handwriting from his time as Stakeholder at Bitkim. There had been none from either him or Avril Bitra about their mining operations, though the Minercrafthall still excavated the occasional fine gemstones from the clay at their original site.
    He closed the final volume with a frustrated soft
whoosh
, and then glanced apologetically over his shoulder for disturbing the quiet. He noticed that the surface of Tai’s worktable was covered with bound volumes. Idly he wondered if she was having any more luck with her research than he was. Craning his neck he could read the spine on the book facing in his direction: Volume 35—YOKO 13.20–28/. The last four digits, which would be the relevant Turn, had been overwritten in red marker to read 2520. The correction had been made in the precise numerals only Master Esselin could produce.
    Stuffing the note with the replica of the initials back into his belt pocket, he rose with quiet agility, trying not to scrape the chair on the stone floor. Collecting the volumes he had been consulting, he returned them to the proper shelf. He stood for a moment, fists jammed into his belt, glaring at the rows of records that would not produce the answer to his puzzle. Was there a reason why he had to identify SK? Who would care? He did, for some obscure reason he didn’t understand. He made sure the books were properly aligned on the shelf. Master Esselin was very particular about how his precious volumes were returned.
    Hearing Tai get to her feet and push back her chair, F’lessan swiveled around to see her picking up the outsized book she had been studying. She hefted it up, pirouetting gracefully on tiptoe to return it to the special shelf in the case behind her.
    “I hope you had better luck,” he said with a rueful grin.
    Startled, she lost her grip on the awkward, heavy tome. One edge was wedged against the lower shelf. She struggled to get it up again and into its assigned place, but her hand slipped. Knowing how difficult Master Esselin could be about damage to any artifact in his custody, F’lessan leaped across to catch the volume, just managing to keep one corner from impacting on the stone floor.
    “Not a bad save, if I say so myself,” he said, grinning up at her. Why was she regarding him as if he were dangerous? Or shifty? “I’ve got it. Allow me?” With what he sincerely hoped was a cheerful smile, he took the volume from her nerveless fingers and shoved it safely into place.
    That was when he saw the raw scrapes on the back of her left hand.
    “That looks nasty. Seen a healer?” he asked. He reached out to examine the injury, at the same time fumbling in his belt pouch for numbweed.
    She tried to pull free of his grasp.
    “Tai, did I hurt you?” he asked, instantly releasing her fingers. He quickly displayed the distinctive green glass jar used for numbweed.
    “It’s nothing.”
    “Don’t try that on me,” he said, mock stern. “I’ll get Golanth to make Zaranth tell on you.”
    She blinked rapidly